Spiky Spikes.

An Interpretive Poem for Wednesday Morning


I am at the cube at Comcast
And when I sit up straight (which I usually do)
And stare straight ahead
I am eye level with the top of the wall part where it meets the glass part
and I see only the spiky hair of the middle aged man who sits in the next cube
The middle aged spiky hair man...
Just the spikes
like a tiny patch of brown grass.

It is my corporate field of dreams. The spikes are always spikier on the other side of the cube.